Malevolent Savior
by illiteracy.will.prevail
Summary: L feels discouraged and trapped, but has no idea how closely his feelings will begin to reflect his reality. Will the person he despises the most be able to save him, or will he have have to rely on his own wits? Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I don't own Death Note, nor do I own it's characters. If I did, I would be sipping on martinis and basking in the glow of my glory, not uploading stories onto this site

**ATTENTION! there has been some confusion about this story having been stolen. No, it wasn't, I'm just a moron and posted it in one account, changed my mind, and posted it in the other account I have. I thought I had deleted the story for the account "Sylvertongue", but I guess something went wrong in the process. If you read the story and alerted it when it was under that author name, I forgot to PM you guys before I actually deleted the story, but I'll try to get ahold of you to let you know. But there has been no plagiarism, just stupidity. Thank you. **

So, I've never written a Death Note fic before, but I've wanted to for a while. So, here it is, I'm doing it. Sorry if it's a piece of crap, I can only do so much with the budget I have. Actually, that has nothing to do with anything, I just love it when people use budgets as reasons behind poorly written work on websites (the sort with articles). Writing doesn't take a budget, it just takes a little concentration… which I can be lacking at times. I'm mostly writing this for my own amusement, so I apologize if you actually like it but it isn't updated as frequently as you would like. If people actually follow it, I'll try to make and effort so you may be amused on a semi-frequent basis. I'm also going to try and make sure there is actually a plot, because those can be nice in a story. If you feel the story is just sitting stagnant, let me know, and I'll redouble my efforts to make the world's laziest detective and action hero. Have you ever noticed how lazy L is? What a pitiful action hero. So, without further ado, here is a series of words, that, one pieced together, may or may not form a pile of crap. And please, do not feel the need to review by saying "Aww, poor you and your poor self esteem, it isn't crap, ooby booby baby talk kisses and snuggles". If you feel like criticizing, go right ahead. If you feel like saying you like it, please, be my guest. If you feel like saying nothing at all, you're more than welcome to it. It isn't a requirement that you stroke my ego in order to read the story.

* * *

The chain rattled softly, the only noise that could be heard in the dark room. There was no sound of breathing, no sound of shifting or snoring. Only the chain, shifting almost of its own accord.

Of course, the two occupants of the silent room were very much alive. Even with the usual eery glow of the laptop monitor missing, there could be no mistaking that they were there, silently occupying the matching twin beds.

A rustling of fabric interrupted the silent atmosphere, followed by the gentle clacking of steel jostling against a wooden bedpost.

L let out the breath he had been holding, his wide eyes moving from where they had been staring, frozen, at the ceiling. Slowly, the giant orbs moved towards the direction of the metal clacking, his eyes catching the movement of the long chain and following it unconsciously. He had woken from his brief sleep only moments ago, gripped by terror. His first reaction had been to scream, but he hadn't. He hadn't done anything thing but track the frantic beating of his heart as he lay breathless and staring. At least, that was what he had done until the noise of the chain brought him back to the moment. And really, it was only fitting, considering it was the chain that had caused him to feel that way in the first place. There wasn't much that he could remember from his dream, but he knew the chain had been in it, wrapped around his neck, choking the life out of him.

Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recapture the dream that had caught him off guard. It was unusual for him to fall prey to a nightmare, at least one with the power to wake him. He slept so little there was never a real opportunity for them to take hold, and the ones he did end up having rarely scared him any more. He supposed it was due to years of profound desensitization that allowed him to view his dreams with a quality of clinical detachment. Years of analyzing images of ravaged bodies, the victims of the most deranged killers, which allowed him to float through his own nightmares unaffected.

His eyes opened, once again focused on the glowing white ceiling. There were spots in his vision now, fleeting grey figures that flitted and danced above. When he was a child he had thought them to be spirits, observing him as he slept for some unknown reason. He knew better than that now, he knew they were just a combined effect of the muscles around his eye and his eye lids forcing the blood out, and his wimpy pupils doing the best the could with the limited light they were able to collect. Even with that knowledge, the presence of the grey night spirits calmed him some.

Even as his heart slowed and his breathing became regulated once more, he started to feel a different type of anxiety over take him. He needed to get out of that room, out of the building, right away. He needed to walk, to go somewhere, and to do something. He thought about opening his computer and working on the case, but the thought of looking through the same information over and over again as he had been doing for weeks filled him with a sense of dread. Severe claustrophobia was taking control of him, a horrifying sensation of the walls of his small world crashing down around him. He needed out so badly he could almost feel his heart leaping in his chest in an attempt to drag him away.

With shaking hands he retrieved the key he had hidden on him and jammed it into the keyhole in his own cuff. He fastened the cuff around the bedpost, trying to make as little noise as possible. He wanted to be alone, with no interruptions. With that done he jammed his worn sneakers onto his feet an exited the room, pausing only long enough to punch in the door code that would secure the room until he returned.

* * *

"Hey guys, chief, good morning!" Matsuda's cheerful greeting rang out in the dim room, illuminated only by flickering computer monitors. Save for a momentary pause in the clacking of typing, his salutations were unreciprocated.

"Hey, guys?" He asked uncertainly. There seemed to be a certain amount of hostility in the air, almost a palpable tension. "Where's Light and L?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Aizewa growled, obviously disgruntled from where he was sitting hunched at his own station.

"They've been missing this morning, but we haven't been informed as to what the situation is." Soichiro replied, his anxiousness barely showing through his resigned disposition.

"L is attending to a personal matter and will return shortly." The mellow tone of Watari's voice cut through the din, interrupting that inevitable bickering that would have commenced. Every one but Matsuda looked disgruntled, yet satisfied with the news.

"Unprofessional." Mogi muttered darkly.

"Hey, that's not fair. He's been working on the case non-stop for almost a year, and I never see him do anything but work. Not even you guys work so many hours. It must have been something really important, considering he never does anything for himself."

Matsuda's vouching for L's behavior actually seemed to placate the task force members, and Soichiro could be heard grunting in acknowledgement.

Meanwhile, Watari watched the video feed of L leaving his room, and then the building, once more. He had been trying to locate L since the early hours of the morning, and, judging by the look on the young detective's face as he left, the sooner Watari found him, the better.

* * *

L sat, watching the pedestrians make their way through the park, both taking in a enormous amount of detail about each person, and subsequently ignoring them. He had been gone for hours, and only in the last few moments had he started to feel any relief from the cloistered feeling of the early morning.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him once again that he was unaccustomed to going with out food for any period of time while awake. Lethargically, he made a note that he should work on his consumption rate. His intake of sweets had only increased as his frustration with the Kira case had grown, and he was afraid he would no longer be able to endure without his constant supply of snacks. Contrary to what every one might think of him, he had conditioned his body to handle little to no sustenance throughout the years, a necessity with the possibility that he could be kidnapped one day and need to keep a clear head despite enforced starvation.

However, he dreaded the idea of instigating the conditioning once again. It reminded him of an early childhood in which there had never been enough, and forcing himself to not eat caused panic and fear. What if Light noticed and managed to get him to reveal that facet of his past to him while going through sugar withdrawals? The question did have merit.

He continued to watch as people walked by, often mothers with small children. It was well past the time that most people would head to work, leaving only stay at home mothers to frequent the grassy area. The laughing at shouting of the children, accompanied by the occasional wails of a distraught child, were as soothing as they were irritating. He hadn't resided at Wammy's for many years, but the sounds were familiar and comforting.

His stomach grumbled once again, and he thought he should perhaps make his way back to the investigation headquarters. It was the last thing he actually wanted to do. He knew, deep down, that he felt stifled by the entire thing. Stifled from having Light chained to him… the only person he had ever feared on a personal level. He didn't want to hear his amicable voice once more… didn't want to face the angelic face, nor hear the mild disdain that clipped his words when addressing L.

There was something malevolent inside Light, something sinister and dark, and the way it wrapped itself in innocence and friendship had begun to wear on him. Through Light's proposition of friendship, through his genial remarks and small smiles, he felt something lurking underneath, desiring to snap his spine and shred the flesh from his bones. Light desired his death, in the most heinous way possible, even if he didn't know it. Yet L knew it, could see it in his eyes, and the ferocity of the rage was beginning to wear on him.

But he needed to get back to the others. He had no doubt they were upset at his sudden disappearance, and Watari frantic to locate him. Besides, now he had absorbed more than a months worth of fresh air and sunshine, he could perhaps focus on the case and shed new light to old problems.

He got up to leave, shoving his hands in his pockets and finding old candy wrappers settled on the bottom of each pocket. The crinkling noise attracted the attention of a passing mother pushing a pram containing a toddler. She looked at him once, looked away quickly, then looked again with an expression of subtle dislike. Being Japanese, her expression was schooled to be as polite as possible, yet L could see her distaste for his appearance, sloppy clothes, unhealthy pallor, stooped posture. Where normally the look wouldn't have bothered him, he felt a strange pang of disappointment; and unusual desire to try once more in order to gain her approval.

Unsure where these feelings originated, and slight unsettled by their sudden onset, L set off, meandering his way back in a whimsical and misleading path. He doubted any one would bother trailing him, but it was a formality in going to the building, even if it seemed a little frivolous in his case.

He turned for the tenth time, heading down the second to last alley on his predetermined route. The sun broke from behind a cloud, warming his skin and suggesting a possible sunburn from his prolonged exposure to the elements that morning. Regardless, he stopped a moment to enjoy it, knowing the opportunity to feel the sun on his skin in such a manner would not present itself for a long time.

Pressure. Suddenly, there was massive pressure exerted on his exposed neck. A hand was gripping him tightly. He felt him self pulled back sharply, against a body behind him. Delaying his moment of panic, he shot out his foot, hoping the sudden change in his body weight would loosen the grip. Hands, strong arms, caught the foot, restraining his combative movements. At least two of them, possibly more, both male as could be heard from the considerable grunting they made while trying to prevent his escape.

The sun vanished behind a cloud once more, throwing the alley into a deep relief and allowing L to see without being blinded by a glare. The one gripping his legs was completely covered, his face hidden by a mask, and body covered by a shapeless windbreaker. A sleeve had been pushed up in the struggle, and L could see the arm was light skinned and covered in a layer of reddish blonde hair. A man of European descent. He struggled harder, and was quickly punished by a blow to the head. It was blunt, most likely executed by the second man's fist. This one's arm was also covered, but he could see a watch. A Rolex. Some one with money or a knowledge of where to procure stolen goods. Possibly a thief himself. As L continued to struggle and gasp for breath against the pressure on his neck, a part of him hoped whoever they were, they would just assault him then leave him in the alley. If they had money, and meant to kidnap him, they would have the means to keep him hidden if they had brains.

With a sudden surge of energy, he frantically whiplashed his body hoping to break both grips. The man holding his legs lost his hold, sending L's legs crashing to the ground. Trying to gain his footing and surge forward at the same time, L manage to drag his other assailant a few steps and loosen his hold slightly. He decided to perform a backwards kick and burst forward as quickly as possible.

As his foot connected to a kneecap, some thing hard also connected to his head. For a few dizzying seconds L thought he had managed to get away. Then the ground lurched closer and the world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I don't own or profit off Death Note or its characters. **

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* * *

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"Where is my son!"

The chief was livid. Hours had past since when he had first arrived to find both his son and L missing. He trusted L with almost the entirety of his being, but there were small misgivings left in his heart when it came to L and his son. He was concerned, but somewhat unsurprised. Where ever L had gone, his son must have followed, considering their attachment. For the most part, he was upset at being uninformed of their movements. With L's almost paranoid attitude towards safety, he had no doubt that what ever they were doing, they were safe. Safe, but missing.

One thing that kept him the most worried was the continuing absence of Watari. Although the man often kept himself secluded, he usually made several appearances during the day, most often to supply L with his usual assortment of sweets. Soichiro hadn't once given any thought to the relationship between the old man and the detective besides the usual wonderment of their professional relationship. Often he had wondered if they were related, if Watari was a servant, or perhaps an older detective observing the work of his predecessor. Whatever their relationship was, it was clear that with L not present, Watari was not going to bother making his usual journeys into the main investigative room.

It bothered him. Watari was the task force's link to L, and without him there, Soichiro was in the dark not only about L's whereabouts, but his son's as well. He could only sit and wait, having gone over their material multiple times throughout the day without coming to any new conclusions. He felt inadequate, usurped in his position by his son and the mysterious detective.

Across the room, Matsuda muttered to himself. Without the presence of L or Light, he had applied himself more diligently than usual. The other task force members had obviously not been impressed with his zeal, scoffing behind his back at the idea that with the two brains of the operation missing, he could make up for their absence with simple hard work an determination. Personally, Soichiro actually found his approach more endearing than that of the others. They had lost their drive, showing just how much they had come to rely on the input of L and Light. But Matuda had continued to endeavor, determined to make some sort of leeway. The chief appreciated his efforts and his positive attitude, and even felt affection for the poor police officer when he made optimistic declarations throughout the day to try and boost moral. Whatever the kid lacked in cognitive abilities, he made up for it with simple sheer force of will.

"Oh Chief, why don't you go home and spend some time with Sayu and Mrs. Yagami? I bet they miss you."

Soichiro blinked, breaking out of his thoughts. Looking at his watch, he saw it was past nine. The other investigators had left long ago to spend time with their families or relax during the strange respite. Only he and Matsuda had stayed behind; him to await news about Light, and Matsuda to try and prove his worth, or as he put it, lessen the work load a little.

"Gentlemen," Watari's voice sounded over the speaker for the first time since morning. Soichiro felt himself tense, feeling his anxiety take hold once more.

"Y-yes, Watari?" Matsuda asked, his brow furrowed in worry. Soichiro noticed and wondered for moment if he had stayed behind out of concern as well.

The door connecting Watari's observation room to the investigative center opened, revealing the wizened man. Soichiro scanned his face, looking for any signs he should be worried. It was the same as always, calm, collected, with a hint of grandfatherly affection. It was unusual, seeing the old man without his cart of sweets.

Watari entered the room and came to stand in the area between Matsuda and Soichiro, but did not take a seat. It was one of the behaviors that deepened Soichiro's feelings the man was some sort of servant—he never sat in the company of L or the task force.

"Gentlemen," He repeated, speaking slowly and calmly. "We have a situation. L has gone missing." Soichiro sat, stunned and disbelieving. A situation? A buzz of frantic thought ran through the police Chief's mind, almost rendering him useless.

"Wait, what do you mean, missing?" Matsuda's voice was an octave higher than usual, his mouth hanging open in shock.

As Watari opened his mouth to answer, Soichiro interrupted him. He had noticed something about what the old man had said.

"L? Just L? Then where is Light? What has happened to my son?"

Watari tipped his head in acknowledgment of the statement, closing his eyes solemnly before continuing.

"Yes, just L has gone missing. Under the circumstances, this does bring further suspicion onto your son; However, a few details of the situation lead me to believe that this may not be the work of Kira."

"Then what about Light? Where is he?" Normally, Soichiro would have been ashamed of the brisk rudeness he was displaying, but not now. His son was possibly in danger.

"He is safe in his room. I have seen and attended to his needs for today, simply informing him that L has left to see to a matter of complete necessity. However, that is not the case. If you would look at the video feed captured in the early hours of the morning, I will explain to you the situation as I currently understand it."

With that he went to the nearest computer and typed in a few commands. A surveillance video came to life in a new window, paused on the image of a closed door. Watari waited for a few moments for Soichiro and Matsuda to join him, before addressing them both.

"Early this morning, at 4:04 to be precise, L left the room he shares with Light Yagami." With that, he struck a key, causing the footage to play. They watched as L opened the door and exited the room and took a few hurried steps, his face facing away from the camera, but his identity obvious from the stooped posture, familiar white shirt and jeans, and the mop of messy hair. Suddenly, he paused and turned back, heading to the door once more. He entered a long sequence of numbers into the keypad to the side of the door, before turning away once more to walk away. As soon as he left the range of the security camera, Watari paused the image.

"As you can see, he takes the time to secure the room. This behavior may or may not be voluntary. It could be suspected that his actions were dictated by Kira, and securing the door was merely an order. Yet I believe this was done of his own accord. In our investigation, during the instances that Kira has controlled the actions of his victims, there has been no hesitation in the actions of his victims. Yet in this footage, it can be noted he only takes the time to lock the room as an afterthought, and had no intention of doing so upon first leaving the room."

Soichiro felt himself let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. What Watari said made sense, and a part of him was overjoyed to hear that suspicion of his son acting against L was particularly high.

"He looked so… weird." Matsuda described the expression on the detective's face in a way Soichiro would not have thought of, but once he had heard it, it was the most fitting. In the video feed, the high quality had allowed him to see what normally could only have been speculated in the grainy footage in lower quality footage. L's face had held a mixture of emotions that were disconcerting to see on the normally impassive face. Calling the image to mind was disturbing.

"Yes, Mr. Matsuda, you are correct in that observation. In the years I have known L, I have rarely seen such a display of emotion. This is a further reason I believe L to be acting of his own volition. If you would please direct your attention once more to the footage that was gathered this morning."

Once more Watari tapped a key to resume the video. It looked as though he had spent considerable time with the surveillance video throughout the day. Instead of needing to switch from the recordings from each camera, the individual recordings had already been edited together, providing constant coverage of L's movement through the building that occasionally changed perspective as the video was taking from the next relevant camera. Each time L's face came into view, both Matsuda and Soichiro felt a pang of brotherly or fatherly concern. It was simply remarkable, the expression of anguish and sadness on his face. It was one of the instances that reminded them that despite his mental prowess, L was still a very lonely young man, barely out of childhood.

At last the video ended, showing L walking out of view of the cameras that were mounted on the outside of the building.

"When I first knew of his disappearance, I looked into it myself, believing that L would return on his own once his moment of emotional unrest had past. For such a gifted man, it is not unexpected that he occasionally experience times of doubt or unrest, and, while seldom, he has had shown similar behavior once or twice in the past.

"However, due to his failure to return, I am now treating the situation as suspect, and possibly crucial to the Kira case. At the moment, there is one pressing matter that needs to be addressed. Do we honor L's wishes to treat your son as a suspect and hold him in monitored confinement until the detective has returned, or do we give him the benefit of the doubt and seek his aide in this investigation?"

Soichiro opened his mouth to answer, but closed it just as suddenly. He looked to Matsuda, and could see he also felt ashamed of his hesitation.

* * *

Pain. Dull, throbbing, horrendous pain. L did not move, or open his eyes, but simply waited as he became acclimated to the pain permeating his body. He was, not for the first time, amazed at how well his body could disregard something while unconscious that he couldn't hope to ignore while awake.

The ache in his body had either begun to subside, or he was getting used to it. His head felt the worst, but there wasn't an inch of his being that felt unscathed. He already knew what had happened. He had been accosted in the alleyway, by two men, at least one of them of European descent. That had been the first thing to cross his mind, even before he registered the pain of his body. Now that he had gained some control over his body, he knew he needed to open his eyes and observe his surroundings.

With all his heart he hoped he was still in the alley, beaten, bruised, but free to leave as soon as he could gather enough strength to walk. If he was too injured to even manage that, he could yell out until some one came to his assistance.

Without moving, or giving any other indication he was awake, he opened his eyes. It was imperative, if he had been taken, he exhibit as little signs of awareness as possible in order to give himself time to take in the situation.

Blackness. All his eyes gathered for a moment was dark nothingness. He waited, allowing his vision to adjust. After a few long moments, his eyes had gathered little more light, and all he could see was a dark grey fog.

Had he been taken captive and held in a dark room?

Several possibilities crossed his mind. He was in a dark room; he was in the dark alley; he was in a dark hospital room.

It was unlikely he was still in the alley. The city was much too busy for any place to ever be truly dark. He also doubted he was in a hospital. There was no noise that he could hear, nothing akin to the constant background noise of machines, staff, and patients that could be heard all hours of the night and day at a hospital.

He was in a dark room. He was lying unbound in a dark room.

It didn't necessarily mean he was captured. He could be back at headquarters, saved by the members of the task force. Or he could be in the home of a misguided good samaritan who had found him and taken it upon themselves to aide him while unconscious.

Despite those nicer alternatives to kidnapping, he had to act under the assumption that he was now in a hostile situation. If he erred, it would be easy to apologize… If he acted as if he were in the keeping of a friendly force when in fact he was now being held against his will, the results could be irreversibly negative.

He focused on using his other senses now that his eyesight had proven to be useless in the low light environment. The first thing he noticed was the smell. A chemical odor he had often noticed in newer or newly renovated buildings. A scent of fresh carpet and fresh paint. Where ever he was, it was new or had seen many recent improvements.

His body was in too much pain to gather a real tactile sense. His skin was numb in relation to the ache of his many injuries. So instead he focused his ears. He may not have heard any loud, obvious sounds, but there was a chance he had missed softer noises. After a few minutes of careful attention, all he could make out was a silent but persistent hum. The building had commercial grade climate control. An office building perhaps? Which ever type of building it was, it was large enough to need the type of extensive ventilation that often caused white noise droning.

With every thing but visual and tactile data, he decided he needed to take a risk and move. Not much, but enough to rub his face on the surface on which he was lying. As the least injured place of his body, and the only sensitive part not covered in clothing, it was the only real way to gather that information. He only hoped that if he were being some how observed, the movement would be misconstrued as the shifting of a sleeping person.

He shifted his face, nodding his head up and down. There was fabric, rough and course fabric. Carpeting or a rug. He was lying on carpet.

He knew now that he was not in the alley, not at headquarters, not in a hospital, and not in the home of a good Samaritan. No, he had been kidnapped and dumped on the floor. Now he needed to show he was awake and engage his captors. He needed to know what was going on so he could get away.

Most of all, he needed to resist the sickening panic building in his gut and filling his bruised body with adrenaline.

He sat up gather his wits, and slowly rose to inspect the room by patting it down. After his slow, painful, but thorough pat down of room, he found it was a rectangular, approximately 12 feet by ten, carpeted, and devoid of furniture. There was a door on one of the longer walls that felt like painted metal, with a locked handle and a circular disk of metal attached above the knob, indicating the door had a deadbolt in addition to the handle lock. He had not been able to reach the ceiling, nor had he found any ventilation ducts, though he had heard the hissing of air at one point from above. That meant the ceiling was over six and a half feet from the floor, and the ducts out of reach either on the ceiling, or the highest part of the wall. Unsatisfied, he sat and rested, waiting for his captors to make a move.

After counting to one thousand, one hundred fifty six, he heard scraping from the other side of the door. A woosh of air indicated it had opened, but no light entered the room. Who ever was holding him, they were using the darkness to their benefit. Perhaps they didn't trust traditional means to hide their identity.

"Hello, princess, enjoy your beauty sleep?" A gruff accented voice asked in English. With an intake of breath, L recognized the accent almost immediately. The man was Welsh, or did a good impression of a northern Welsh accent. He had heard the accent many times in his life in the U.K. to mistake it for anything else. It was very likely the man with the reddish-blond arm hair.

He didn't say anything, choosing to weigh his options carefully. He considered feigning ignorance of English, choosing to use one of his many fluent languages instead. If they thought he couldn't understand them, they might reveal something important. The risk of them finding out and punishing him depended on how long the situation played out. Had he spoken during the assault? He hadn't, if he recalled, but there was a chance he had spoken in delirium at some point, and was unable to remember the event. Saying nothing, for the moment, was the safest option.

"What's wrong, princess? Have a headache? Can't stand the light after we knocked your pretty head around?"

What was the man playing at? Was it some sort of test to get him to talk, or did he simply enjoy messing around with him?

He heard footsteps, heavy, plodding, footsteps coming closer. The man headed straight towards him, and a second later, L felt gruff hands grabbing at his arm.

As the man pulled him to stand, L started shaking, terrified and panicked. The man had walked right to him, had grabbed him with no hesitation.

He could see. There was light in the room. The man could see him.

L couldn't see anything.

* * *

Hello, misguided people who hit the next button. Thank you for doing that, I appreciate it. So, this is a second installment, a day after I posted the story. Most people would wait to put the next one up, but I don't have that kind of patience. I think its kind of a long chapter, and I hope you like it.

So, just a few pieces of explanation, if you want to read them. One, I love Matsuda. Next to L, he's my absolute favorite character. Sure, he's flakey and a little silly, but I think people generally write him as way too dumb, and forget to emphasize the traits that make him a good person. I'm not going to write him as super smart or anything, but I'm not going to abuse him. He's like an emotional anchor. My second point is on Watari. He's revealing a bit about L emotionally, but he isn't revealing any sort of personal details that could blow L's cover. He's just worried about him, and wants help. He's not as stupid as the rest of the task force, so he's not about to jump on the chance of using Light right away. He understands the reasoning behind Light's confinement and surveillance much better than the task force did when L died… but he's in a pickle, and wants to make the right choice. And third… L's capture and the insane amount of exposition and detail hacking. Sorry if that was a little boring, but that's how I think L would handle the situation. He'd gather gather gather, then compute compute compute. He's a thinker, and every detail is relevant. So I had to make every detail relevant. But I blinded him for your own amusement, so there. Let me know what you think… or not. Either way is okay with me.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Hola amigos! Como esta? Bien? And that's the extent of my Spanish (not really). This is a relatively short chapter. I'll actually more than likely publish another one later tonight or tomorrow… You see, I've been cooking this chicken while writing this, and now it's done and ready to eat… and I'm hungry. But I had planned to write more. So, I'm going to publish this chapter, eat some chicken while watching Star Trek or something equally as dorky, and then, once I've washed the grease and rosemary and burning habanero from my fingers, I'll keep writing. So, if you're one of my gracious readers, never fear! All the must be done before more reading material is made available to you is the conquering of a Cornish hen… and I think I'll win. Enjoy.

* * *

He had been bound to a chair, and left to sit in silence. The man had quite literally dragged him, muttering and threatening him the whole way. L hadn't said anything yet, still trying to decide if he should let them think he was fluent in Japanese or English. He was leaning towards Portuguese. He had dark hair, dark eyes. With his complexion, he thought it was feasible that he could pull off a Brazilian of European descent, visiting a Japanese-Brazilian friend who had just recently moved to the country.

It was more important now than ever that he hear what was going on, and not miss a single thing. He couldn't see what he needed, so he would listen.

As the man had dragged him out of the room, down a hall of about 50 meters, turned left, down another hall of 20 meters, turned right, and sat him on the chair before binding him, L had gone through and resolved his inner crisis. Whether or not his blindness was permanent had yet to be seen, but he could not allow it to hamper his cognitive abilities. He needed to escape, then deal with the possible long-term effects later. This was not the time to grieve.

A door opened to his left, in the same direction he had entered the room. Two sets of heavy boots entered, followed by the muffled clacking of a heel. Two large men and a woman. The boots came towards him, stopping a few feet away from where he was sitting. He could hear them breathing. He placed the likeliness the boots belonged to the same men who he had fought in the alley at over 85 percent. They were more than likely lackeys, and, depending on how shrewd the operator of this group was, they knew the fewer people involved, the less likely they were to be caught.

The woman's clacking heels entered the room and walked away from his position, coming to a stop around ten meters away.

"So, you must be wondering just what is going on, aren't you?" Her voice was soft, deep, and strong all at once. The accent suggested American, though it was neutral enough to be from anywhere in the U.S. Sometimes, L hated the unifying power of television and mobility; it helped to merge and bridge regional characteristics of a country until it became more homogenous in almost every respect.

He kept his head still, giving no indication that he had or hadn't understood her, or that her question had provoked him in any way. Without his sight he was being more hesitant and cautious than usual. It was almost all he could do to ignore the panic he had so quickly conquered during his journey in the hall that was rising to the surface once more. He could feel the sick acrid taste of bile rising in his throat.

Soft, musical laughter filled the room. "Oh, it's just too easy in this country. You see, they really could care less about you. You're not from here, you're not one of them, and they won't even care that you're missing." Her joy could be heard in each word, and it filled him with dread. For a moment, he was reminded of the more evil, vindictive side of Light he had glimpsed every so often. The skin on the back of his neck prickled.

"But you really have nothing to fear. You see, we're in this business for a profit, with a most unusual trade. You will learn to obey, and follow our instructions and training, or you will be punished, simple as that." He could hear the rustling of fabric, and then the muffled beating of her shoes against the carpet as she came closer. He could feel her lean towards him, breath in the scent of her perfume, the brush of a long strand of hair against his face. Fighting the urge to flinch back, he kept his eyes pointed downwards as she chuckled.

"I think you will be hard to break, but once taught, you will be a fine product." Tiny puffs of her breath floated against his skin, causing goosebumps to rise on the flesh of his arms. He hated being in this position, strapped to a chair, unable to curl into himself, unable to see and analyze from his usual perch of cold indifference. He felt he had escaped the choking shackles of his chain, only to be caught and bound twice as firmly.

She moved away, and he took in a deep breath, trying with all his might to not pant or give into hysteria. He was afraid, so deeply afraid of what this woman was going to do to him.

"We'll start with the medical exam. Watch him while the doctor works, but don't get in the way. Return him to his room when the doctor is finished and keep me posted with the exam is done. Understood?" Perhaps he was projecting one perceived capture onto the other, but he was unnerved how similar to Light she sounded when issuing her commands.

He needed his sight, or he would let his fear get the better of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I do not own Death Note or its characters. **

So, it actually took me two days to defeat the Cornish hen. Three meals in all. I ate all the skin in one go, however, and that was lovely. It just takes forever to get through all that horrible white meat. White meat is the devil. It's advertised as being superior to dark meat (all white meat chicken breast is usually what it's called), but it isn't. Fast food restaurants have trained consumers with advertising that white meat is superior because it is the most abundant meat on a chicken, therefore cheaper for them to use in their products. At least that's the explanation I thought of to explain it, because I can't fathom why some one who obviously is not on a diet (they're eating fast food), would prefer white meat to dark. Okay, here's a new chapter in the story… I have to cut off the rant before it goes full tilt.

* * *

"Let me remind you of our compromise." Watari's kind, grizzled voice floated through the room, projected by the speakers. Sitting at the center of the massive computer setup, Light nodded his head stiffly. Looking to the side, his eyes lingered where L would normally sit, the spot on the desk looking empty without the mess of wrappers and dirty dishes.

After a few brief moments of looking into the void, Light narrowed his eyes in contemplation and turned his attention to his computer. He needed to start at the beginning. He needed to watch the tape, and work up from there.

When Watari had come to him the day before to explain L had left for a personal reason, he had been more than suspicious. There was no possible way L would have left Light behind no matter what he needed to attend to. If had been an issue of privacy, there were easier and more secure ways to garauntee that without compromising his commitment to have Light under constant, personal surveillance.

As a result, he had spent the day in his room, going through any thing he might have missed during fits of restlessness. L was so much more difficult to read than the average person, and, despite having been chained to him for more than half a year, he was still constantly amazed at the oddities L tended to reveal about his personality.

All Light had to go on was that L had seemed more pensive than usual, perhaps more preoccupied and irritable. Yet he had merely chocked that up to the failure of the case to present new leads and evidence. Nothing from that night had been noticeable enough to take note of; there had just been the usual rattle of the chain whenever either one of them had moved. Light had gotten so used to the sound of it that he hardly ever noticed it any more, and when he did, it was due to L moving too much during his bouts of insomnia.

At first, Light had considered the fact that L had been sleeping as strange, but then he had remembered that the normal three day interval had passed since the detective had last slept. The pattern of three days waking, the fourth night sleeping, was sound.

Sighing, Light shifted in the chair before pressing play. Mulling over the same information over and over again was getting him nowhere, and he was worried about L. Despite a nagging voice in the back of his head insisting he would be better off with the detective dead, he was desperate to find his contemporary.

He watched the familiar image of the door to their shared bedroom, waiting for L to emerge. A moment later, it opened, revealing the shadowed face. It was too hooded by hair and shadow to get a grasp of L's expression, so he studied his body instead.

The prominent curvature of L's spine as he turned away from the camera to walk down the hall was more pronounced than usual, his stooped posture wretched compared to the norm. Another thing Light noticed was his arms. Instead of being stuffed into his jean pockets, it looked as though his hands were clasped around his forearms, his right arm moving in what Light presumed was a stroking motion against his left. Without having yet seen L's face, Light was wary of what he would see when he did. Already he was left with the impression of defeat; of a broken man comforting himself in a moment of doubt.

When L turned in the footage to go back and lock the door, it was worse than what he had imagined. L looked positively haggard.

It was strange, the feeling Light had at that moment he saw the suffering on the face of his nemesis, his only friend. At times he noticed these troubling feelings, as if he was two people living in the same body, inhabiting the same mind. Of course, he had the expected amount of concern and apprehension upon seeing such an expression on L's face, especially right before his disappearance, but he also felt something contradicting that concern. Almost an elated sense of victory.

He shook his head as he reflected on his feelings with scorn. Celebrating the suffering of another human was beneath him, a sick peversion only exhibited by the worst kind of scum. No matter the reasons he was feeling the way he was—most likely an anxiety produced reaction to the absence of his jailor, his interrogator—he would need to ignore it.

He watched until the end of the footage, solemnly observing L's back as he wandered out the range of the last security camera. Thinking for a moment, he turned to Matsuda and his father.

"I need you to gather all the recordings from the security cameras of every business, parking lot, and apartment building within a mile radius of here. Use the excuse of needing the footage in order to resolve and investigation. Also, ask them if they had seen any unusual or suspicious characters within the last two days. If they've seen L, they'll more than likely mention him; he isn't exactly a normal looking person, especially for this part of town. It might also help us gain a lead on any possible attackers. Remember, we don't know what exactly has happened to him, so the possibility that he has been attacked or worse cannot be ruled out.

"While you are collecting that information, I'm going to access the archives of the city's surveillance, as well as look into any recent hotel bookings and hospital admissions, mainly focusing on our immediate area, but also for the entire city."

Soichiro's face hardened and his mouth settled into a grim line before he nodded in confirmation to his son. Matsuda stared blankly for a moment, his face sad, before he also nodded with a look of determination.

"Remember, this is of upmost importance. This may be related to the Kira case, but this could also be the result of an accident, or different criminals altogether. We need to find him as quickly as possible, and any time we waste increases the chance that when we do find him, he will no longer be alive. I'll be here waiting for you when you've collected all the necessary data."

As his father and Matsuda left, Light turned back to the computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he sought anything, anything at all, that could help him find his missing detective.

* * *

L sat in the chair, his breathing erratic. The doctor had just entered the room and was currently setting up his supplies on a table nearby. He was worried about what would happen if the doctor found out about his blindness. Would he no longer be a valuable product to these people? Would they dispose of him? He was hoping if his eyes meant he was no longer of worth he would just be let go, having seen nothing of the people who had kidnapped him.

"Now, I can't do much with you strapped in like that. I'm going to release your bindings and have you hop onto this table over here. And know, one false move, and I'm sure you friends would be happy to remind you where the authority lies."

The doctor spoke with a falsely kind voice, as though he was gleaning immense joy from his situation. L disliked him at once. He could feel his bindings coming undone, with tugging and pulling of the thin coils around his wrists and ankles. He caught a whiff of the man's odor, and was slightly bothered that he smelled of nice cologne. He wanted the man to smell as vile as he appeared to L, not of some one comfortably wealthy and well groomed.

"Now, if you would remove your clothes and situate your self on the examining table. No need for modesty. You'll be needing to rid yourself of that soon enough as it is."

He wanted to run so badly, but instead he stood, removing his jeans and shirt, leaving only his loose boxers in place. His shoes weren't an issue, they hadn't even made the trip with him. Most likely they were sitting abandoned in the alley. Hopefully some one who knew who they belonged to would find them. Most likely they would end up in the trash.

He walked towards the sound of where the doctor had been setting up his equipment, walking slowly with his eyes downcast. He didn't know what to do about his blindness. He wanted the doctor to know about it, to tell him it was temporary. He also wanted to hide it incase it caused his death.

Cold fingers grabbed at his wrist, holding it slightly elevated.

"Hmm… Ninety. A little high, but I would expect that. Respiration thirty-three. Yet again, high, but expected."

The cold fingers dropped his wrist. The sudden noise of separating Velcro attacked his ears, causing him to flinch in surprise. The hand once again grasped his arm, feeling for his brachial pulse. A moment later, the blood pressure cuff was strapped firmly around his upper arm. He heard the doctor working the pump, and felt the cuff expanding around his arm. It closed in uncomfortably hard, more inflated than usual. The doctor enjoyed inflicting pain on him, L noted, trying to allow his deductive abilities to compensate for his increased anxiety. His observation didn't help much.

Against his arm the stethoscope was jammed into place, and his waited as the cuff slowly deflated. It was agony, and he rubbed his arm back into life as soon as it was removed.

"Again a little high, but nothing to cause alarm. If you weren't in your current situation, I'm sure you would read as healthy as could be. Most acceptable."

The next few minutes passed torturously slowly as the doctor inspected his skin and his bruises, his ribs and abdomen, his lymph nodes, his reflexes. He was, according to the doctor, battered but intact. After palpating the lymph nodes in his throat, the doctor moved to his mouth, holding his tongue down with unnecessary force. He knew his eyes were next.

"Well, your throat and mouth look nice, teeth and gums healthy. Now, look straight at my finger."

He looked straight, hoping it was the right direction. After a moment the doctor became quiet, much more so than he had been during the rest of the exam. A few gruff humming noises came from a few inches from his face, the smell of peppermint almost overwhelming.

"I'd like you to follow my finger." There was a rustling sound from ahead of him, but he ignored it as he stared resolutely forward. There would be no hiding his condition.

"You really are as blind as a bat! You dumb bastard, you didn't even flinch at the gun I had pointed straight at your face." The glee in the doctor's voice was unmistakable, and L had no doubt he was telling the truth. The rustling had probably been from on of the lackeys removing it from their holster.

"Have you always been blind?" L thought for a moment, and decided to take a chance. Slowly, he turned his head side to side. Without his sight he would be hopeless; he needed to know. "Let me guess, it happened during your fight with these bozos?" He nodded his head, praying for good news. He hated the doctor, but that didn't mean he couldn't be useful.

"Oh, I see. I need to examine your head." The doctor's hands gripped his head, taking very little care not to pull his tangled hair. When his fingers reached the back of his skull he hissed in pain as the fingers prodded a sensitive bruise.

"Trauma induced blindness. Most likely swelling to the occipital lobe. No worries, your sight will be fine within twenty-four hours. I've seen this before with children. Yes, you're a fine, if peaky, specimen. We just need to straighten out your posture and let those bruises fade, and you'll be ready for packaging."

Internally, L felt a swelling of relief. From what he had heard so far, he assumed he was going to be sold for some unknown purpose. But it seemed as though that wouldn't happen anytime soon, and that he would need to be in good condition before that occurred. His sight would return soon, and with his senses intact, he would find his way out, and then bring his kidnappers to justice.

* * *

**AN: **Look, I've possibly unblinded L. It's really hard writing for a blinded person. Although there is generally plenty of auditor sensory input, most people (and authors), choose to ignore it in favor of ocular input. I spend a lot of time trying to identify what the noises coming from various areas of my apartment complex are during the day. It's demanding and fun. I can tell if my boyfriend, brother, mother, or my boyfriend's friends are coming over from the end of the parking lot (over a hundred feet), by the sound of their footsteps on the loose asphalt. However, it is a little over-taxing to try and replicate that hobby into a fanfic. I will most likely be updating next weekend because I get to do my school work, and the school work for two other people who have papers due all this next week. Yes, I kind of help them cheat, but I also lecture them the whole time. I may not have ethics, but I have morals ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Light stared at the computer screen, angry and depressed. All he had was sporadic footage collected from street intersections and the occasional outward facing CCV recordings gathered from various shops. L had definitely walked away on his own, down a few blocks. After checking a city map, Light guessed his destination had been a nearby park.

After returning from their gathering mission, his father and Matsuda had given him any footage they could find, but they had very little to relay in terms of witnesses having seen L.

After a brief deliberation, Light and Watari had agreed that they would contact the rest of the taskforce to let them know a brief absence on their part was necessary. Light already had a suspicion that Aizewa and Mogi, while impressed by L's intelligence, did not like him much. If they found out about this incident before they could solve it, their trust in L might be damaged beyond repair. That would not be beneficial for the Kira case.

Knowing that it would be wearing on his two available detective, Light decided that Matsuda and Soichiro would have to suffice. Hopefully, with his insight and deductive abilities, they would be able to solve the case before they had to call in help.

"Dad, Matsuda." Light called. Matsuda had been lounging on one of the couches, reading a magazine while his father had just sat in a hard chair, staring grimly at the floor.

"Yes, Light?" Matsuda called, his voice tinged with fatigue.

"What is it, Light?"

"I know you both are tired, but we can't quit yet. I'm sure if we just work hard, we'll get this solved in no time and L will be back with us. However, for the moment, I need you to go to this park, and canvas the area. As well, I need you to interview the people who are there. Focus on people exercising or those with young children. We need to find people who go there regularly and ask them if they've seen any one fitting L's description. I'm sure it will help immensely, and I'm certain he was there before he disappeared. Can you do that for me?" Light's pointed finger lingered on the image of the park, drawing his father's a Matusda's eyes to it.

"Yeah, no problem, Light. We'll get right to it." Matsuda responded, heartened by Light's little pep talk as intended.

"Of course." His father seemed more light hearted as well.

He hoped they would find something relevant before they became too worn out.

* * *

L had been guided back to his room, a little more skillfully than before. He guard had not been gentle, but neither had he inflicted harm on his body. L wondered how far their unwillingness to hurt him would go.

Once in his room, his guard had left, only to return a short time later. The Welsh man had informed him that he had brought food. As L groped his way to the plate, he ignored the sniggering from the guard as he successfully found his food. Feeling it with his fingertips, he guessed they had given him bread, broccoli, and a hunk of some sort of meat. Next to the plate was a cup of some sort of liquid.

After thinking for a moment, L started to eat with his hands. He was hungry, and didn't want to miss out on an opportunity to eat. If they had drugged his food or water, he would find out now rather than later, and not go hungry in the mean time.

After he had finished, the guard had grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt and drug him to his feet. He muttered something about using the bathroom before grasping his arm firmly and leading him onward, leading him in the right direction with sharp, jerking tugs at his arm.

Once there, L fought a feeling of humiliation as the man positioned him with the back of his legs against the toilet. The guard had made a crude remark about messes before allowing backing away to L could take care of his business. He then fumbled his way to the sink, washing as thoroughly as possible before being dragged back to his room.

The world was still dark as L lay on his back, restlessly thinking about his situation as he stared at the ceiling, his eyes wide in the dark.

* * *

His thoughts snapped back to the world when he heard the sliding of the deadbolt. The door swung open, leaving L to blink as his eyes were assaulted by the bright lights.

He was glad, his vision had returned, with a vengeance.

"Oh, so he was right. I some times forget that we do pay that doctors for a reason."

It was the strong melodic voice again. As soon as he felt he could bear it, L opened his eyes fully, willing them to adjust faster. Standing in the doorway was the women from the night before.

Despite the light behind her casting her face in shadow, L was both pleased and dismayed at what he saw. Her face was Japanese in every respect, her clothing the same sort of stylish professional look that any Japanese woman would wear. Yet her accent was entirely American.

"What do you want with me?" L asked in Japanese, his voice harsh from dehydration.

"What do I want from you?" She returned in English, her voice filled with laughter. L couldn't be sure with the lighting, but her face appeared to be pretty and care-free. He was truly dealing with some one with few scruples or concerns for the welfare of others.

"I want you to obey." She answered in impeccable Japanese. Too bad, L thought, that she wasn't more suspicious.

"You're going to come with me." She continued, backing away from the door and motioning for him to follow. Standing at either side were the two guards. One was reddish haired, the Welsh one, he guessed, and the other was a generic brunette. Both were bigger than L remembered.

"You see, we guarantee complete obedience and subservience from all our products. You'll simply do as you're taught, or suffer the consequence." Her voice was light and happy, yet the threat could be heard easily. He hadn't been taken by amateurs, he knew that already.

"And how do you do that?" He asked, deciding to keep the conversation going in order to glean as much information as possible.

"Aren't you the curious one! Well, it won't hurt to let you know a little bit, since it will work either way. You see, because of the quality of our products and the nature of our business, we have ensured tailor made obedience training and punishment for each and every one of our subjects" She fell silent then, a small smile tugging at her lips. For a moment L inspected her face, trying to ascertain whether or not he had ever seen her before. He was positive that he never had, and she resembled any other unremarkable, slightly pretty Japanese woman he was seen before.

"And how will you do that for me?" He asked, attempting to keep her talking. Trying to get her to reveal something useful.

"You'll see soon enough. We're almost there." She turned to smile at him before looking forward down the hall. L inspected his surroundings, but found it exactly as he had postulated. The hall ways were long, white walled, and windowless. Underneath a dark, cheap looking carpet covered the floor. They seemed to be in the basement of an office building.

"Now here we are. Why don't you go in and get accuainted? We can start on your reformation later, starting with that ugly posture." They stopped outside a dark blue painted door, exactly the same as the one to his old room. Turning, she stared at him with an incomprehensible look before one of the grunt men unlocked the door, swung it open, and shoved him in. L whipped around just as the door was swung shut.

For a brief moment he stared at it, almost too nervous to turn around. A rustling noise came from behind him, and he decided to stomach his fear. Never could he remember being as adversely effected by any life-threatening situation. He was more of a mess than he had realized.

Turning slowly, he saw two twin sized beds, each one pushed against a wall. For a moment he thought the room was empty, until he noticed a slight bump underneath the blankets of one of the beds.

Walking towards it, he could see it shifting slightly.

"Hello?" He called out softly. The blankets shook slightly again. Whoever was underneath them was clearly more afraid the he was.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said with what he hoped was a soothing quality. Soothing had never been one of his strong points.

Coming closer to the bed, he gently grabbed the edge of the blanket. "Why don't you come out of there?" He tugged on it gently, only to find it being held by a vice like grip.

"Stay away!" A young, high-pitched called out in Japanese. L suddenly realized he had been speaking in English, and whoever was hiding from him hadn't understood and was plainly terrified.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He repeated, this time in Japanese. He tried tugging on the blanket again. "Let's introduce ourselves."

He tugged on the blanket again, and this time the death grip was not holding it in place. It slid down, revealing the face of a young girl, aged five or six.

Some where in the back of his head, L was stupefied and angry. He knew how they were going to control him. He could see a bruise on the sharp cheek bone of the girl's face. She, obviously, was allowed to be harmed. Outwardly, he kept a façade of calmness.

"Hello, you can call me Ryuzaki." He said, letting his lips tilt upwards in a small smile.

"I'm Reiko. Are you going to be my new roommate?" She stared up at him with wide eyes. He nodded.

"I hope you're better than my last roommate." She said, her face pulling into a small look of sadness and anger.

Suddenly, L realized his plans for escape were going to get much more complicated.

* * *

**AN: **Okay, so I know what I just did seems incredibly corny, but I have a plan with this, believe me, and it won't turn out quite as dorky as you think. Yes, he's been taken by some human traffickers, but they don't operate like most of them do. You'll see what's going on as the chapters unfold. Plus, I some neato scenes planned that really aren't like any of the ones I've read before. I mean, if you've read them before, let me know, and I'll try to discontinue my smugness once they make their way into the story.

I think I might also electrocute L a little bit, or something just as nice. And then how will the story be able to be corny when L had jumper cables attached to his nipples? How that could be accomplished is what I want to know… But then, in the world of fanfiction, any thing is possible, I suppose.

God people are retarded on a Friday night. I thought some one hit a parked car in our parking lot… but instead it was just a doofus driving his truck over one of those parking curbs.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Hello there. It's been a while, hasn't it? My computer was roaming New York, so I wasn't able to do anything with the story. It's actually my boytoy's computer, because mine is broken, but the whole story is saved on there. I uploaded this same chapter (I changed one word), but I had written it while hopped up on cough medicine, so, while I was slightly less hopped up, I removed this chapter so I could review it and ascertain as to whether or not it was what the story needed. And yes, I think it was. I'm actually impressed with my intoxicated writing skills. This chapter is setting up the mood for the next one, which should be published soon, now that I have this computer back. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"I think we need to bring the other's in." Light's voice cut across the empty room, startling Matsuda.

"But Light, I thought we weren't going to do that. Trying to keep The other's in the dark so they don't lose their trust in L…"

"Yes, I know that, Matsuda." Light sighed and closed his eyes, counting to three and making sure he didn't give in to his temptation to throttle the poor boy. "But there are still the weekend killings, which are coming up, fast. Plus, do you remember what the statistics are for retrieving missing persons as time goes on?"

"I don't remember the exact numbers, but I know they aren't good. What does Watari think?"

Light sighed once more. He was really doing his best to be patient with Matsuda, but he was also starting to miss L's presence and his own method of dealing with Matsuda dearly.

He was starting to realize that his dependence on L was perhaps unhealthy, but he didn't care to analyze it too thoroughly. True, for all intents and purposes, L was the most dangerous person in Light's life, and insane intelligence trying dearly to prove Light was one of the most dangerous and despicable criminals of all time… But he was also a person unlike anyone Light had ever met. How long had Light interacted cordially with his classmates and admirers, only to secretly despise them and their stupidity while he smiled and offered phrases of encouragement? Yet L didn't suck up to him, didn't seek out his approval; if anything, he did his best to infuriate Light, but his intelligence and witticism had almost made the belittlement worth it. Plus, there was a part of Light that wanted to hear "Matsuda, you idiot," with a passion. He always dealt with him so patiently, so kindly, but he knew that if he truly said what he wanted, it would be cruel.

Briefly he wondered if L was really the better person as he contemplated the scathing remarks he felt Matsuda deserved for his idiocy. Just briefly.

"I already talked to Watari. He agrees, and has already begun calling the others back here. Even at the sake of L's reputation among the task force. We need to find him."

"Oh, okay, Light. If that's what you think is the right thing to do." Matsuda laughed softly, and Light imagined Matsuda was laughing to spite himself. Sometimes Matsuda seemed as if he knew how ridiculously below his or L's level he was, and was willing to criticize himself for it.

It made Light feel marginally better, to think that even if he was unable to say the things he wanted, Matsuda was already thinking them. People should never feel good about their flaws and lacking ability.

"While we're waiting for them, I want to start looking over these cases."

"What are they, Light?"

"They're the kidnapping and trafficking cases that L was considering before the Kira case. Some of them weren't big enough for him to really consider… but I had Watari pull them up for me. I want to go over them to see if any fit the situation. Also, I found the more local ones, cases that would have been beneath L's radar, but still relevant."

"How did you get those ones? I thought we weren't working with the NPA any more?"

Light smiled softly, ignoring the question and turning back to his computer screen. There was too much work to be done to continuously humor Matsuda.

With a discouraged sigh, Matsuda turned to his computer as well, staring at his hands as they hovered over the keyboard, his shoulders slumped.

* * *

L hated children. Yes, he had spent time in the orphanage at one point, but that had been after a considerable part of his childhood had been spent mostly alone. Yet, despite his time there, he wasn't overly fond of children, and despised dependent people as a whole.

People who were dependent constantly asked questions, couldn't come up with the answer themselves, and wanted some one to provide for them. It was aggravating.

With these thoughts in mind L found himself staring back at the girl, Reiko, wondering what he should talk about with her. For all he knew, she could be the next smartest person in the world, or the dumbest, but it didn't really matter, because she was five.

"Reiko, do you remember when you first came here?" He hoped she knew something. Being her age, she most likely had been abducted through snatching, with no fighting, and hopefully would have details he didn't, such as the entrance to the building.

She sat on her bed, wrapped in blankets. During the hours he had spent trying to warm up to her, nothing had really taken. At one point, she had declared that she loved the color pink, but the was about it. Nothing detailed, nothing informative. L hated children.

"I remember my dad. He was going to go shopping so mommy could make dinner." Useless.

"What were you doing?"

"I was playing outside. But then there were these big men, and… and then after that, I was here. They wanted to train me for something, but they couldn't, because one of the men had hurt me. It hurt so much, but I didn't know what happened." Keiko huddled in her blankets, shivering slightly. L thought he should maybe comfort her, but felt unsure. Slowly, he unfolded himself from where he had been crouched in the extra bed, went over to her, and awkwardly rubbed her shoulder as she cried.

And she kept crying. It was vexing, to deal with not only his own predicament, but to also help a confused child. Slowly, L lifted the blanket drawn over her. She was dressed in a short sleeved top, and shorts. There were bruises evident on her arms, and even dark places on her legs that could be easily bruises as well.

He gently lowered the blanket over the distraught girl. "So, Reiko, what was your home like?"

He hoped the questions would stop the crying. He hated crying, in women or children, and more so in men.

She smiled faintly, looking up at L with slanted, dark eyes. He swallowed, feeling jittery now. The small amounts of natural sugar in the scant meal he had eaten were wearing off, and now he could feel a tingling feeling in his limbs. His mental state would only become agitated soon.

"My dad worked, all the time. So did my mom. They loved work. They didn't love me." She crossed her arms and looked to the side, obviously upset. It was a common ploy used by children, genuine or otherwise, and he didn't want to deal with it.

"So they worked a lot?"

"Yeah, they did. I hate them. If they cared about me they would know that I'm missing! They would find me!"

L didn't want to deal with her emotions. He wanted to know what she might have seen on her way into this place. Internally berating himself, he formulated a new line of questioning.

"When you came here, was it because some one was being nice to you?"

She nodded, and her eyes narrowed. "Yeah, he said he had kittens. I always wanted a cat. Dogs are too big, and you have to take care of them too much. But cats… All my friends had cats, and I wanted one too. I thought I could pick out the perfect one, and my parents couldn't say no. I went to look at the kittens, and then… and then… there were the big men"

She started to sob. L sat there, watching. He knew he should comfort her, but he couldn't bring himself to. There was a part of him that was degrading the girl in front of him; degrading her for so easily falling for the same trap he was caught in.

Ignoring her sniffles, L laid down in his bed. He had no intention of sleeping; it wasn't time, but he wanted to be able to consider his situation. Without any other mental revelation, he laid down for a night of thinking.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: **Warning: There's some violence in this chapter, and some angsty sadness, ok?

This chapter doesn't actually have much to do with plot, it's more introspective. So, you know, no explosions or getting the girl and saving the world quite yet. The laziest action hero in the world needs some mental down time, after all his other down time, because, you know, thinking can be exhausting. Enjoy.

Huh… I wonder if more people would read this if I didn't update all my chapters between the hours of 2 to 6 in the morning, which lets all the afternoon updaters bump my story down the daily list. Ah, I don't really care.

* * *

He tried thinking of a plan of escape, but he didn't know enough about his situation to come up with any assured plans. L realized that his reluctance to take risks was perhaps impeding his planning abilities, but he had good reason.

Foremost on his mind was how much he could trust the small lump occupying the other bed. He felt guilty towards her, now that she had fallen asleep and he had time to think about his previous thoughts on her.

Yes, he didn't like children much, but he also didn't generally despise them. His words towards her had been kind, but his thoughts had been scathing, almost frighteningly so, until he realized he was falling prey to a psychological condition he knew very well, but hadn't experienced within his adult memory. He was weak, a powerless victim, and because of this he had become a bully, taking advantage of the first discernable person with less control and power than himself.

Of course, his actions had let none of this through, but his thoughts still disturbed him. He had seen this type of behavior manifest in criminals too many times to count, and it was a very disconcerting reminder of his own humanity to find himself in that position.

As he lay on the small bed, his situation and the abused girl's proximity kept calling unbidden memories, bringing them to the forefront of his mind. He focused his thoughts on the air-ducts. He knew that they usually worked nothing like in the movies, and could not be used to crawl throughout an entire building, but, every once and a while, where good ways to get to the next room, or perhaps the one next to that. In an office building, there was only so far a person could travel before they encountered a ventilation fan in the middle of the shaft, much less the independent unit for that particular floor.

Meanwhile, he eyed the air-duct on the ceiling suspiciously. L wondered if his luck was so bad that the engineers of the buildings ventilation would have been stupid and inefficient enough to allow the shafts go upwards towards the next floor up. It was an illogical setup that increased heating costs, but he had seen it done before. However, he cared more about what resided in the next room. It could be the break room for the guards who protected this place. Crawling around in an aluminum shaft was too noisy for retreat if he spied burly men through the grate of the next room. He also wondered about the ability of his roommate to keep quiet if she witnessed him pull himself into the ceiling. He needed to wait, canvass his surroundings, and hopefully come up with a better option than crawling around in the air-ducts.

Having come up with this conclusion, his mind once again wandered onto thoughts unbidden. Sighing forlornly, he decided that, given his situation, there was no way around these memories, he would simply view and discern them in the same clinically detached way he did every thing else. L knew this didn't help to alleviate all of the depression that came with these recollections, but that it did help. Closing his eyes, he resolute himself to the process of reliving and purging.

_He was young, very young, and his mother had put him in the bath. She had washed his hair, and left, allowing him to play in the bubbles in the way that he enjoyed. He was busy sculpting the bubbles into the pyramids he had seen on tv when he heard the shouting. He had heard them before, shouting, while he was bathing, and he had always wanted to go and investigate. This time he would. _

_He stood up in the bath and brushed his arms and body the way he always did, trying to get rid of most of the moisture before grabbing his blue towel. He knew he needed to rush, but there was a part of him that wanted to wait until the bathwater grew cold, like usual, before he ventured out, because when he did that, it was always over, and the flat was dark and homely. _

_This time he forewent his entire routine after brushing off his body, and he grabbed his towel in a hurry, wrapping it around himself as he flew out the door. He stood in the hallway and watched. He father had his mother by the throat against the wall. He raised his fist and with a loud thud, there was a hole in the wall next to his mother's head. He had seen enough of these holes, along with bruises on his mother's face, to know that it didn't always end there. Terrified, he waited before he screamed. _

"_NO!" His father looked to face him, his fist still raised, ready for the second assault. His face was livid with anger, and for a moment L thought the engorged veins and reddened skin would come barreling towards him instead. His mother slowly turned her head, her movements restricted heavily by the palm draped across her neck, and her look was one of stricken panic, seeing her son confront his father, naked (L had dropped his towel) in the hall. She looked at her son with love, but was scared to the core of her being. _

_A moment later, the grip on the woman's throat relaxed. "I'm going out." His father grunted, grabbing his coat and hurrying out the door. L was never sure what kept his father coming back, seeing as his parents never got along, but for the moment he didn't care. He had his mother with him. _

_She coddled him, using French words he didn't know anymore. His father had outlawed her language in the house, worried that she was plotting against him. The only thing he recognized was:_

"_Mon petit chou." My little cabbage. He didn't want to be known as cabbage, but he understood it. People ate cabbage all the time, mostly as a way to fill them up. But baby cabbage, the kind he was, warranted money from people because it was harvested in its infancy, before there was much from it, so it was worth a lot. _

L opened his eyes again, thinking back on the scene. It was a standard memory. Not all of them were unpleasant, in fact, quite a few of them involved heartwarming or neutral moments of his very early life. Yet that memory was one of the last he had of his tiny little family.

His mother, by definition, had been vulnerable. She had met his father young, and, being from a poor family, had left her little village in France to live with him in England. While there, he had kept her isolated, free of friends and any one to check up on her or worry about her life.

He remembered his father as a wildly intelligent man, one who never forgot a single detail, and could argue his way so fiercely he was the ultimate manipulator. Despite this, L had a very strong suspicion that he had been illiterate, and, when the time had come to sign his birth certificate, had only put down an L, his parents having decided to call him Lucien. Lucien Lawliet.

From his original name, L had always wondered if it had been a concession on his father's part to keep his mother happy, or if it was because they had been genuinely happy at the time. Whatever it was, his birth hadn't been enough to keep their problems from starting, or tragically culminating in their deaths.

He sighed once more, sitting up in his bed and crouching, looking once more at the sleeping hump. A part of him wondered about her family, and if her parents were looking for her. He hoped so, and he hoped that he could deliver her to them safely. He never usually became emotionally invested in those types of situations, and he wasn't invested quite yet, but he had a feeling that it was only a matter of time.

Idly, his mind wandered back to the deaths of his parents, but this wasn't what actually bothered him about his memories. As a child, new to the orphanage, he had thought about that day so many times that he was now used to it, the memory seared into his brain with astounding clarity. The difference between thinking back on it now, as an adult, and then, as a child, was that he no longer felt guilt about that day. He no longer blamed himself for having such a wonderful time before the event actually occurred.

It had been a Monday, and, as a rare occurrence, his mother had deposited him at a neighbor's in order to have some time to herself. He didn't mind, he actually enjoyed going there.

The woman was an old, kindly Algerian woman who his mother had bumped into on accident, and she had known enough French that they had been able to muddle through a conversation and form a limited bond. Every so often, his mother would take him there to spend the afternoon, and he adored the old lady. He couldn't remember her name, but he remembered when he called her meme it had made her happy.

The day it had happened, he had been excited because the old woman had given him mint tea with lots of honey, and honey covered sesame treats. He never got to eat many sweets at home, his mother was against them, but when he went to the old lady's house, he could usually beg a few date filled pastries out of her, or some sesame snacks.

That day he had spent a pleasant time with her, eating his snacks, terrorizing her cat, and he had stolen her soft, silky veil to make a cape and had been delighted while she chased him around her home, laughing when she caught him and cuddling him up to her soft, wrinkly cheeks. It had been a wonderful day, one that was marred when he had come home to discover what he would now classify as a murder suicide, but back then had only known it as lots of blood.

At times he wondered if that day was the reason for his love of sweets. It had been one of the most pleasant things he could remember directly before he had discovered that dreadful scene. Often, he thought it was his mind's attempt to retreat back to where it was before his entire world had changed. This didn't make him enjoy his sweets any less, but, every once and a while when he was contemplating a little sugary morsel, the thought entered his mind before he popped whatever it was back into his mouth. All he knew was that he would never allow himself to enjoy mint tea, date pastries or sesame snacks again, since that would almost be depraved.

He shifted in his bed again, feeling anxious at the thought of sugar when he had had so little in the past few days. Unwilling as he was, he did admit to himself that despite his withdrawals, the time he had spent confronting his past had helped to clear his mind, allowing him to focus once more on his scheming.

His eyes following the minute up and down motion of the girl's breathing, he decided to wait until morning, determined to endure another day of the place before he decided on his final plan. It was just a matter of time before these people messed up enough for the greatest detective in the world to figure his way out of their claws.


End file.
